


Window to the Soul

by Mighty_Ant



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: AU, Character Study, Future S3 Speculation, Implied threat of F.O.W.L., M/M, Magic, Minor Drakepad - Freeform, Minor Injuries, These two characters together would be a powerhouse and we know it, background drakepad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26945707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mighty_Ant/pseuds/Mighty_Ant
Summary: Lena no longer bothers to feign surprise when their sleepovers are rudely interrupted by some strange, unforeseen entity. Although, she has to admit that having a superhero appear in a cloud of purple smoke in the grand foyer of McDuck Mansion at 3 am is pretty new.
Relationships: Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack, Indigo Sabrewing/Tyrian Sabrewing, Indy Sabrewing & Ty Sabrewing & Violet Sabrewing
Comments: 14
Kudos: 201





	Window to the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I am psyched beyond words for 'Let's Get Dangerous' and in my excitement couldn't help but take one last stab at Gosalyn's character before we get to know the canon version! I'm leaning a little on the headcanon that Taurus Bulba became Gos' caretaker in the aftermath of Prof Waddlemeyers death, before she learned he was directly responsible for his (possible) murder.

Lena no longer bothers to feign surprise when their sleepovers are rudely interrupted by some strange, unforeseen entity. Although, she has to admit that having a superhero appear in a cloud of purple smoke in the grand foyer of McDuck Mansion at 3 am is pretty new. 

In the moment, there’s little amusement to be had. Everyone, adult and child alike, is awoken by the shouts of one Darkwing Duck after what had been a comparatively peaceful sleepover. The most exciting thing to happen was Dewey accidentally summoning a demon king with Della’s old ouija board and even then all Baldog wanted to do was toilet paper the mansion and they all had fun helping him with that. 

What isn’t fun is jolting awake in the pitch dark to the stricken shouts of a man and the pounding feet of every adult in the mansion rushing toward it. Lena and the others jump out of their sleeping bags, weapons at the ready, only to cluster at the top of the stairs, frozen at the sight below them. 

They watch Darkwing stagger under the weight of a half-conscious Launchpad, whose hair is in disarray and matted at the temple with a dark stain difficult to discern in the moonlight streaming in through the grand windows. Lena, who has not seen Darkwing Duck since his embarrassing stint during moonvasion, nearly doesn’t recognize the man now. He’s deathly serious as he speaks rapidfire to Scrooge, carefully maneuvering Launchpad’s arm over Beakley’s shoulders. Darkwing moves the hair out of Launchpad’s eyes and brushes the back of his fingers over his cheek. Launchpad smiles dazedly, his gaze unable to focus properly on Darkwing’s face. 

There’s an economy, a tension to Darwing’s movements that the rest of the adults are quick to reflect as they half-carry Launchpad into the den, where there’s a couch to lay him down on and one of Beakley’s many first-aid kits is stashed. Donald and Della urge the kids to go back upstairs and wait. Wait for them to do what, Lena doesn’t catch, because she realizes at that very instant that there’s someone here she’s never seen before. 

Hidden by Darkwing’s cape, whether intentionally or not, is a kid near Lena’s own age. Red haired and brown feathered, she looks like she’s been through the wringer nearly as much as Launchpad. Her face is pale and bruised as Beakley takes a grimacing Launchpad’s weight, and does not seem reassured by the shaky hand Launchpad smoothes affectionately over her hair as he’s led away.

As Donald and Della lead the rest of the kids back to Webby’s room, Lena is the only one to stick around long enough to see Darkwing kneel in front of the kid. With a start, she realizes who this must be. 

Gosalyn Mallard. Lena only knows what Webby has told her, and what the boys have told  _ her; _ a beloved grandfather murdered by spies, a kidnapping, the sky splitting open in a riot of color and noise, a portal that defied the stuff of nightmares. And in the end, Darkwing Duck emerging as the unlikeliest of heroes. But Lena recognizes his actions now as more than that of a simple rescuer. He brushes Gosalyn’s long bangs back, cradling her face between his palms as he speaks to her quietly. He wears an expression that is familiar to Lena, mingled dread and love and a plea for understanding that she’s seen in the faces of her own fathers. 

Arriving back at the house she was only just beginning to think of as her own with Violet in tow, not recognizing her face in the mirror, unsure of how to make her sorceress transformation go away, and worried about frightening Tyrian and Indigo. 

Indigo is drying a plate when they step through the front door. He looks up from the sink with a smile because neither she or Violet have told them what happened last night: a silent, looming man cloaked in black raising a glowing green hand, fury and pain and betrayal revisited in a filthy, humid bog. Indigo’s eyes go wide when he sees her and he drops the plate he’s holding in his shock. Lena stops it with her magic before it can hit the floor. Indigo doesn’t react at her startling display of control, his gaze only flickering between her and Violet as he approaches them in a rush. 

“Lena!” Indigo exclaims. She realized weeks back that she likes the way he says her name, his accent making it something musical, something real, not just a name she stole out of a soggy paperback ten years ago. “Are you alright?” Indigo touches her cheek, squeezes her arm, before looking to Violet. He takes Violet’s hand and she moves closer without hesitation. 

“We are physically unharmed,” Violet replies, but even she can’t hide the way her body droops in exhaustion. 

Rapid footsteps in the hall, and Tyrian joins them outside the kitchen. “Is that Lena and Vi? Is everything—” he falters. “Whoa. Kiddo, your eyes.” 

Panic doubles back on Lena and her focus dwindles. The plate falls, shattering on the floor. 

“Sorry,” she says instinctively, fighting the urge to cover her eyes like the child she never got to be. 

“Whoa, hey,” Tyrian says, kneeling beside Indigo. “Nothing to apologize for, Leen. It’s on me for surprising you like that.”

Indigo moves her bangs out of her eyes, unnatural and crystalline and  _ blue _ , but he’s unafraid as he’s ever been. “The magic that did this,” he says, always quick on the uptake, “is it permanent?” Like Violet, there’s no judgement to his question, only a request for answers so he can determine the best course of action. 

Lena shakes her head slowly. Without realizing it, her hand has moved to grip Indigo’s sleeve, grounding her with his nearness. “I...I don’t think so. This is like a...magic power up thing. Right, Violet?”

“I believe so,” her sister replies. “There are many reasons this manifestation may not have faded away yet: your body is acclimating to this new surge of magic, your adrenaline might still be high, or you might be in shock.”

Lena drops her cheek on Violet’s head with a fond, if tired sigh. “Thanks, sis.”

“Naturally.” 

She knows Tyrian and Indigo want to ask what has happened to them this time—who wouldn’t. But Lena watches them restrain themselves as Tyrian smiles and drops a kiss on her and Violet’s heads before moving to sweep up the broken pieces of the plate. Indigo ushers them toward the couch and covers them with a blanket before putting on one of Violet’s documentaries. Lena falls asleep to them speaking quietly in the kitchen, for once free of the burrowing fear that they’re discussing how they want to get rid of her. 

When she awakes, the sun has set and her eyes are back to being dark and normal and her oversized shirt has taken the place of the ethereal robes she once wore. Indigo and Tyrian are waiting with questions, but they hold her hands and catch her tears and only ever look worried for her, not scared  _ of  _ her. 

In sum, she recognizes Gosalyn. 

Well, okay, maybe not Gosalyn herself.

But Lena recognizes  _ something  _ in Gosalyn, certainly. Her palpable distrust, perhaps; she sits with her back against the wall, all five kids and every exit in her sight. And she watches them, expression guarded and green eyes dark, sharp and scrutinizing. Curled in on herself like a tightly coiled spring, like she’s trying to disappear, like she’s ready to explode into motion all at once. There’s a tense air around her that warns away the more sociable kids, Dewey and Webby namely, before they can even think to come near. Noise surrounds her, the other kids debating and arguing and wondering what’s going on downstairs. Gosalyn stands out like a black blot on canvas, the eye of the storm, a deceptive ocean of calm amid a deluge of chaos. 

But Lena is familiar with stillness mistaken for calm, and has a wealth of experience in keeping her mouth shut when all she wants to do is scream. It’s painful now to see in another, one so close yet so far removed from this family she has come to know. 

She’s started to trust her magic more, allowing it to guide her when her path seems uncertain. That’s how she knows it’s the right thing to do when she slips her arm off Webby’s shoulder and, following a reassuring hand squeeze to let her know that nothing is wrong, goes to sit beside Gosalyn. 

With her cell phone in hand, Gosalyn doesn’t look up from its screen, damaged with spider webbing cracks. Her other hand is tucked beneath her arm, hidden from view. Lena wonders if the attack that led them to the mansion was the cause of both. 

Though her magic and intuition has led her here, neither gives Lena any advice on what she should say. She could reassure Gosalyn that Launchpad will be fine, nevermind if it’s true or not. But Lena’s never been one for empty platitudes, knows she would hate them if she were in Gosalyn’s place. And a joke would probably set the wrong tone, too. 

In the end, it’s not until nearly a minute of silence passes them by that she finds the words. 

“Y’know, if you’d let them know you were hurt you might’ve been able to hang around downstairs.”

That finally does it. 

Gosalyn jerks her head up, her distrust reflected in the poison green of her glare. One of the kids might’ve been scared off by the intensity of it but after watching Magica’s crimson glower overtake an entire wall, Lena isn’t fazed. Gosalyn’s gaze flickers briefly to the others, reassuring herself of their continued distraction. When she looks back at Lena her expression has lost the worst of its vitriol. 

“Dad’s a big worrier,” she replies guardedly. “Nothing interesting would’ve happened while he was freaking out.” 

Lena nods. “Can I see it?” she asks. 

There’s that sharpness in Gosalyn’s eyes again, something Lena recognizes from whenever she looks in a mirror. Neither Webby or the boys or much less Violet have ever held the same look, a wariness born from pain inflicted by someone close to you. 

After what feels an age, but must have been less than a minute, Gosalyn pulls out her left hand from where she’s hidden it beneath her opposite arm. The cuts along her knuckles have begun to scab over, the bleeding since stopped, but further along the back of her hand, beneath her fourth and third knuckle, are bruises already beginning to darken. At least one bone is almost certainly broken. 

Lena blows out a sharp, awed breath. “What did you do, punch a wall?”

“No,” Gosalyn mutters sourly. “A rooster with a metal beak.” 

She’s looking away, thus missing Lena’s brief startled blink. Even with the unending strangeness that is her life, Lena’s never heard of such a person, and wonders what else Gosalyn might know. She wonders what else Gosalyn and her family might have been running from, and how long until it catches up to all of them. 

“Okay,” Lena says, steeling herself. “I don’t have too much practice with this, so bear with me.”

Gosalyn’s brow furrows. “What do you—” She breaks off with a swear as Lena’s hands start glowing blue. Though her eyes are closed, Lena knows that her magic has moved to engulf Gosalyn’s hand as well, brightening steadily. She pictures the bones in Gosalyn’s hands, delicate and thin, pictures where the break must be, and pictures it mending bit by bit. The rest of the room fades away, the sound of voices and movement disappearing. All Lena hears is her own heartbeat and all she feels is Gosalyn’s hand in her own. 

In the space of fifteen breaths, Lena knows her magic has done all it can do. She calls it back to her and the world rushes back to greet her, nearly deafening in its intensity. She opens her eyes as she releases Gosalyn’s hand, meeting her wide-eyed stare with a proud smile. No longer so stoic, Gosalyn looks down at her hand in awe, turning it over and flexing her fingers without any show of pain. The cuts along her knuckles have vanished, and the bruising is practically gone. It’s maybe the best work Lena’s ever done. 

“Holy crap,” Gosalyn says. Lena laughs. 

“I healed the worst of it,” she says, “so now your dad won’t freak. But I’d hold off on punching anyone else for a little while, if I were you.”

Gosalyn blows her bangs out of her face. “Fat chance of that. My dads have got enough on their plate without needing to worry about me.” 

Lena nods slowly. “I know what you mean.”

This time, Gosalyn’s scrutinizing isn’t accusing so much as curious. Lena leans back, shrugging against the wall. “My dads worry too,” she replies. “They didn’t expect….this.” She raises her hand and summons a blue flame to her palm. Lena hears Gosalyn’s quiet gasp but continues as if she hadn’t. “I mean, how could they, right? Magic isn’t really on most people’s radar.” She lets the flame dance across her fingers, spinning and twisting and defying all laws of physics. “I don’t always tell them as much as I should. I guess I’m still afraid of...scaring them away, even after everything.”

Gosalyn cradles her left hand with a thoughtful expression. “Why’re you telling me all this?”

Lena briefly ponders a litany of potential answers. She sees something of herself in Gosalyn, in her abrasiveness, avoidance, and hidden fear, that is unique to them both and compelled her to reach out. She cares about Launchpad and wanted to get to know the kid he adopted out of the blue. She was curious about the silent, sullen teen who appeared on their doorstep in the middle of the night. 

Lena closes her hand, snuffing out the flame. 

“Just wanted to help. And let you know which air vents will take you right over the TV room.”

Gosalyn grins, mischievous as anything, as the last of her skepticism vanishes. “Is that so?”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this short fic! Let me know what you thought in the comments below


End file.
